


Future Gardens

by stellaretic



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Codependency, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in a magical manner of speaking that's p negligible imo but just in case, technically pre-established vanven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaretic/pseuds/stellaretic
Summary: For as far as Ventus’s extremely short breadth of memory stretches, the crux of feeling loved has always been pocketing bits and pieces of affection and making them last long after what should have been their expiry. The sensation of slender fingers carding through his hair one night, when well preserved, could warm his blighted heart for the duration of the next. An earnest compliment, even if spoken just once, was a magic spell that bolstered his every step.When did that change? If he had to wager a guess, it would have been when everything changed.
Relationships: Vanitas & Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Future Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> you ever find yourself at a breaking point in a big dumb spiral of wanting to reach out and engage with loved ones, but you know that, due to Circumstances™, pretty much everyone around you is in the same boat, so you decide you’d rather isolate and suffer in silence than compound anyone else’s misery with your own? thaaaaaat’s unfortunately where my head’s been at as of late! so i guess this is my own messy way of starting to work through it. extra messy, tbh. i’ve been sensory overloaded the entire time i’ve worked on this so i’m sure it shows.
> 
> either way, i hope you find something to enjoy even if it doesn’t resonate with you personally! and thanks so much for looking!
> 
> p.s. for those who read cadence, this takes place in the same universe! Woooooah!

For as far as Ventus’s extremely short breadth of memory stretches, the crux of feeling loved has always been pocketing bits and pieces of affection and making them last long after what should have been their expiry. The sensation of slender fingers carding through his hair one night, when well preserved, could warm his blighted heart for the duration of the next. An earnest compliment, even if spoken just once, was a magic spell that bolstered his every step.

When did that change? If he had to wager a guess, it would have been when _everything_ changed.

Sora’s decade long embrace, necessary as it were to his survival, spoiled him rotten. The weeks they’ve spent adapting to their return to old lives as irreversibly changed people, estranged all throughout save for a text or two, have left him starved for intimacy and safety alike.

Having developed a dependency so strong is nothing short of pitiful, but even more so is Ventus’s desperation for something— _anything_ to fill the gap while he regains his footing. Which, thus far, has been completely rebuffed by Terra and Aqua’s tiptoe around their inherited castle’s hallowed halls and one another.

Even if he’s been given no opportunity to understand why, he senses tension in Aqua’s shoulders outside of the sun and lamplight. Terra’s hesitance to so much as brush elbows or assert himself in the most trivial situations. To add insult to injury, there’s the oppressive nature of a tall, desolate and needlessly ornate dining chair that Vanitas refuses to occupy.

Then again, perhaps that’s for the best. If anyone staked claim to its padded seat, they’d be forced to address the anguish that the ghost of the man who once called it his own still inflicts upon all of them—and they can’t go doing _that_ , can they? After all, it was he who taught the trio to reject such impulses.

Smother each and every wisp of darkness.

Overcome without outlet.

Deny, deny, _deny_.

Blunt nails saddle Ventus’s palms with stinging crescents. A maddened, guttural sound is expelled from his lips only to be consumed tracelessly by the cool and incessant expanse of the nighttime air. At the cliffside, he drops, draws both knees to his quaking chest and furiously buries his face, reddened with vibrant splashes from the outburst.

Not once does he turn his gaze to the stars he so adores. Faint harmonies of crickets and a delicate breeze weaving through the leaves overhead don’t carry any of their usual comfort.

When a thickening fog encroaches upon his body and mind, he makes no attempt to fight it. Limbs go pliant and thoughts nullify.

Distant footfalls are the next thing Ventus is cognizant of. A little tug in his heart follows suit as they grow ever closer, the mechanics of which he’s just begun to grasp.

Knowing full well what’s coming next, he blows out a sigh that’s audible by the narrowest margin.

“Is the puppy _dejected?_ Got tired of whimpering at the doorstep and sulked off, has he? What a pathetic little thing he is.”

There’s no need for the aforementioned ‘puppy’ to lift his head and bear witness to the cruel grin smeared across his other half’s features. It’s just as palpable in his words, presence and very existence as it’s always been. The sight would be superfluous indeed.

“It’s none of your business.”

Ventus’s retort rings hollow, the snaps that ought to have been stationed throughout nowhere to be found. It’s volleyed by a click of the tongue nonetheless.

“Actually,” Vanitas begins, scorn displaced in favor of sobriety. The tonal whiplash is such that the other boy’s sensory nervous system jolts awake, inspiring his fingers to flex, then tighten around his biceps. “It’s _all_ of my business, whether we want it to be or not. In case it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, my heart feels what yours is feeling from worlds away. And right now, it feels like a glass bottle wedged between some rocks. Give it a nudge in the wrong direction and it’ll burst.”

On the final note of that structurally familiar simile, Ventus twists his torso, languidly blinking eyes meeting with those that narrow into a strikingly sharp glare.

“What?”

“Have you been... _reading_ , Vanitas?”

There’s a change in the addressed’s demeanor that Ventus parses through the vestiges of his trance. A clench to his just recently exposed jaw accompanied by a hike of crossed arms. In that moment, he reminds the guardian of light so distinctly of himself. Namely, in instances where Aqua would inquire as to whether or not he partook of one slice of cake too many.

“What—” Upturned brows knit, a stormy expression once again reigning supreme where a flicker of something along the lines of embarrassment briefly nestled. “What’s your point? So what if I have?”

Ventus could go on to poke, prod and tease until his counterpart bristles. Cite the exact novel seated within the rungs of his personal bookshelf that he’s certain Vanitas’s observation harkens back to. That would be the next phrase in the sort of dance that’s become oh so typical for them, but the thought doesn’t give way to desire or the energy with which to fulfill it.

Instead—

“Dunno.”

—he curls back into his ball and says nothing more, welcoming the lull it brings.

A fit of thoughtless idealism has him entertaining the notion that this will be the part of their encounter where the darker haired teen grows bored and takes his leave. It would be premature, certainly, but Ventus hasn’t been giving him much of a reason to continue parrying. One can only bounce off of lacking or pointedly derailing responses for so long.

Shuffling sounds mingle with those that are natural for the hour. More specifically, another round of footsteps topped off by the low creak of aged wood. When Vanitas speaks again, shattering the silence Ventus convinced himself was pleasant, it’s from somewhere off to the latter’s right rather than at his back.

Knowing him, he’s found a nice perch for himself on the halfway broken fence.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, Ventus.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I asked you what’s wrong.”

The blonde’s nose crinkles against his will. All he can do to salvage it is refuse to give Vanitas the satisfaction of having it directed his way. The _skyline_ will be the bearer of his frustrations.

“No you didn’t. You made fun of me, waxed poetic for a minute, then got all weird ‘cause you thought _I_ was making fun of _you_.” In the span of what was intended to be an enduring pause, something inside of Ventus amends itself and ignites. “And you do like repeating yourself! Your favorite hobby is finding new ways to say the same awful stuff!”

Vanitas’s resulting splutter and bark of laughter gives rise to renewed tinges of heat in the tips of Ventus’s ears.

So much for the skyline.

“Can’t argue with that.” The pregnant pause in between thoughts is almost as irritating as the thoughts themselves. “Well... I can, but I doubt either of us are in the right mood to meet our fate down there.”

Out of the very edge of his peripherals, Ventus spies the descending slope of an index finger. Refusing to entertain the distaste overflowing out of the implication that their hypothetical argument could result in enough violence to kickstart a mutual tumble off the cliff and down the mountainside, he only huffs, chin plopping on his topmost forearm.

Vanitas heaves a sigh of his own, plainly displeased that his joke didn’t earn him anything more.

“Fine, then. I’ll play by your rules. Tell me what’s the matter already.”

Shallowly sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Ventus wades through a rush of indecision. Then two. Three more.

Is he truly about to air his worries to Vanitas, of all people? Admittedly, he may as well be the best candidate. As has been established, the depth of his emotions is something the other is inherently and intimately aware of. When Ventus weighs the pros and cons, the thought of using his words to make that depth known is far more terrifying than filling in the blanks as to where they stem from.

Perhaps the tether that binds them can be more than just a detriment, given the right circumstances.

“It’s just—Terra and Aqua. I wanna be there for them. I want them to be there for _me_. But ever since we got back, it’s like… we’ve got no idea how to talk to each other about what’s bringing us down.” A contrary thought strikes, disproving the words that were just spoken. Ventus backpedals with a light shake of the head. “No. That’s not right. I don’t think we ever had any idea. Not really. But… that’s gotta change, doesn’t it? We’re supposed to be friends. _Best_ friends. I just… don’t know how to make it change. They haven’t let me in, so how am I supposed to lend them a hand?”

“Shouldn’t that be all the more reason?”

Eye contact is established once more. This time, it’s with a jerk.

“Huh?”

“Don’t _'huh'_ me. Use your head. If you guardians are so determined to share your every smile, why should that be different for your misery? Don’t wait for those idiots to let you in to extend your hand. _Barge_ in. Give them no outs. And when you want comfort, take it. Assuming your precious ‘friendship’ means what you’ve told me it does, then none of it oughta matter.”

While his other half gawks, Vanitas leans forward as if to size him up, rubies scrutinizing.

“Still spineless? Where’d that pesky attitude you had when you dragged me halfway across the graveyard crawl off to?” It’s difficult to ascertain whether it’s merely a trick of the shadows or there’s actually an upward quirk to his lips. Ventus feels the tug again irregardless, stronger than ever before. “Figure it out and try it on for size.”

So thoroughly stunned by the soundness of the logic he’s faced with, the aspiring keyblade master continues to stare, viridescent optics blown wide.

Naturally, Vanitas takes issue. 

_“What?!”_

“Nothing! _Nothing_ ,” Ventus stresses, hands raised. “That was just… really good advice. A little too bossy, sure, but… good. I wasn’t expecting it out of you.”

“Advice?” It’s paired with a scoff, but there’s also a tonal flutter, indicative of something polar blustering just beneath its surface. “Please. I only resorted to words ‘cause I know from experience that a boot in your side ain’t gonna cut it." Pushing off the fence, he ambles in the direction he must have initially came, only faltering to turn, frown and make one final point. “And this was just so I don’t have to lie awake with your slop of secondhand emotions anymore, so don’t get any stupid ideas. You’ve got a lifetime’s worth of those already.”

Sucking in a rapid breath, Ventus swivels around, scrambling up onto one foot and knee.

“Vanitas! Wait!”

There’s a terrible, complex knot forming in his throat. In the caverns of his heart lies an elder man’s weighty suggestion that if he pours breath into his selfish desires—indulges in his weakness—he’ll fall.

Albeit shaky and uncertain, he heeds the guidance of another and pushes past both.

“Stay with me? Just… for a little while longer?”

Vanitas freezes where he stands, the look on his face peculiar and indecipherable. At his sides, gloved fingers form fists, holding tight for more seconds than Ventus has it in himself to tally prior to unraveling in a tentative wave.

With a degree of caution that the other has never seen him exhibit, he reorients himself and motions over, soon assuming a haphazard position a foot away, one leg drawn to act as an elbow rest and the other stretched so the heel of a boot dangles just off the cliff’s edge.

Together, they tilt their heads, fixating on the waxing moon that crowns the cosmos.

It’s not enough. It won’t be for a long time yet—but it’s something. And something is always better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> don’t call this a quarantine fic. not bc that’s incorrect, but bc i’ll be inconsolable if i have to acknowledge that fact more than i already have. :pensive:


End file.
